


The Unmade Bed We Lie In

by rin0rourke



Series: Bed&Breakfast [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Golden Age, M/M, Pooka Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood), Pre Earth, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rin0rourke/pseuds/rin0rourke
Summary: After a drunken night at the Pole Bunny comes to some rather disturbing revelations in regards to his romantic interests, old and new, and sets out to properly grieve for his past love so that he might finally move forward.Jack, meanwhile, is finding something very odd happening with his magic, though everyone seems intent on putting it down to becoming a Guardian, he can't help but feel its something.. more...





	1. You Opened This Can of Worms Now Lie In It

**Author's Note:**

> a bit of an idea that has been floating around in my head with no plot or setting until recently, when I was given a Bed Sharing prompt on tumblr. It won't be long, or particularly dramatic, mostly a study of Pookan society and social/ethnic differences.

“I told ye North, the E is for me homeworld.” Bunny lounged on the couch, feet stretched towards the fire, enjoying a nice hard cider as he dictated, again, his culture and history to one Santa Clause. “Eudicot was the Pookan home planet, s’where our kind were born.”

“Yes, but you also said is Class Identifier.” North pointed out, going over his notes as he flipped through their great big Guardian book like a student before an exam. He had drug the damned thing out after they both had got completely rotten on hard cider and whiskey and an assortment of other beverages passed off to them by untrustworthy elves, and Bunny had made mention of some obscure fact North hadn’t known. Now he was sitting cross legged on the floor with the book in his lap and a notebook on his knee scribbling furiously like there was some puzzle to be solved.

“Chri’sake North, I mentioned it in a drunken rant, it ain’t anything worth recordin.”

“It is part of your history Bunny,” North said, again, as argument; as if there was any point recording his Pookan heritage when he was the only one left.

“I already paid my homage t’my culture” Bunny skulled the last of his cider like it was a throwdown and tossed the mug over his shoulder, not really caring if it broke. “Everything on this blasted rock that’s green an growing is my tribute, I don’t need nothin else.”

“But you are Guardian?” North’s pink face and unfocused eyes made for a wild look as he stared up from the floor, a picture of confusion.

“Course I am.” Bunny agreed.

“So we must put it in the book.”

That was not a sound argument, but Bunny was too off his face to refute it. He tried, crossing his eyes and squinting a the book as he tried to prod his floating brain into a debate, but all he got out of it was a “nu-huh, I don’t wanna,” and that wasn’t really anything to convince North of, so after a few more moments of intense eyebrow furrowing from the both of them he gave in. Honestly what was one more bit of his past? “Alright, but I ain’t giving ya the full drum ye hear, didn’t come here to teach ye ancient history.”

North nodded, then set his notebook on his knee and eagerly started to write.

“Eudicot, it had these…” he grasped for the word, fingers opening and closing like he had a stress ball, “roots. Big assed roots, no leaves or branches or nothin, just big assed roots, we made our homes in the dirt under them, used them fer roads, and yeah we had other plants and shit, but the big assed roots were our everything. Big magical roots, legend says they connected to a tree in another dimension, like the World Tree, a Pooka could cast their- what’s a word... “essence” yeah  like astral projection, into the root and go anywhere.”

He reached out to steal another mug from a tray the elves carried over, this one was pink and frothy and cold as fuck when he drank it, but he didn’t care and licked the salt from his lips as he continued, “Skilled pooka could use it ta teleport clear cross the galaxy, or even go back in time, mostly it was used to get from town to town. Well one day the Queen decided that to fight some enemy we don’t rightly remember they needed the first light of the universe, so they went all the way back to the Big Bang and collected the very First Light, only when they got back to the present time something was wrong. They changed something, or maybe it was just too much for the Roots, and they started to retract into the ground, some shriveled and died, but mostly they just started going away. Left big assed holes, crushed homes, destroyed whole warrens. Finally the scientists figured out that the planet was destabilizing as the roots disappeared, and would collapse. Cuz, ye’know, big assed roots all through our planet down to the core, make it a might bit shaky when they leave.”

“Hmm, so First Light destroyed your planet?” North was frowning at his paper, “You never said this?”

“Ancient history mate, s’not anything pooka talk about. Far as we’re concerned it was the fuckups who went back who’re ta blame, s’why we made the Cronomunds.”

“The what?”

Bunny waved him off impatiently, “Ye wanna know about the Class system or don’tcha? Or ye gonna get distracted by every whatsit and thingo ye never heard before?”

North frowned at him a moment more, then nodded and waved his hand in a circular gesture. “Da, continue.”

“Right, hand me that..” he reached across, one hand on the floor for balance because the Pole was being uncooperative and shifting on him like a ship on the tides, “that.. doovalacky there.”

“The what?” North glanced around him, saw the Elves upside down in two of the cups on the tray and passed Bunny the third.

“Ta mate.” Bunny licked the rim experimentally, but this one wasn’t ice and salt, which was too bad because he had gotten a taste for icy things recently. Not that he’d say so if he wasn’t hitting the turps. Just a thing he tended to notice. Where was Jack right now anyway? “Right. So the Queen used the last root they could find and cast her ‘essence’ into it, gave it everything she had, and teleported everyone still on the planet to our colonies. Those what were teleported, they had some strange ‘ties’ to the old world magic, while all us folks on the colonies were kinda weak magic wise, being so far from the planet, the refugees never had that same problem. It was like they each had a bit of the root inside them. They started naming themselves after the royal family, the S. Class, blessed by the Sannng-ssss-Sanguinar.. The..” Bunny held up his hand and took a deep drink, “Sanguinaria, there, got it.” He blew out a long breath, then grinned at a snickering North.

“You are drunk my friend.”

“S’fine.” He’d not been properly pissed in a time, and drinking with North always had its benefits, drinking alone just made him sad. “Gonna need to puke soon though, once I get up. So I’m gonna jussst… stay here, like this fer a time ya?” He sipped at his bright blue not icy drink, “Anyhow, the rest of us were just common Eudicots, pooka who moved from the planet out to some woop woop colony didn’t keep in touch with the Roots, so we didn’t often have access to its power, but the Sss-“

“Don’t you start that again.” North laughed and tossed a little shot glass at him. It bounced off the couch cushion and landed on the floor with a THUMP.  

“Rack off, I can say the word, my mouth’s just… not trying hard enough.” He licked his lips and crossed his eyes, but couldn’t see past his nose to glare at his mouth, which was strange, he was pretty sure he had at least some way to look at his mouth, he could remember looking at his face before, he knew what he looked like after all, so why could he suddenly only see his nose? “Why can’t I see me mouth mate?”

“Because it is below your eyes.”

Huh, that made sense.

“So the S. class, they never had any problem adapting ta being away from the root ye see, an the Pollys, they started going around saying that it was because the lot of them were ‘blessed’, the cunts. Started naming themselves after the Royal family, and the Royal Family changed their name to a bleeding Constellan house, like Mim’s rellies, and the rest of us were all E’s. That’s me name now, E. Aster Bunnymund, cuz I’m nothing special.”

North snorted, and Bunny sent him a dopey smile because North really as the BEST friend. “Well, now you are last, and they are remembered in flowers.”

“Hah!” Bunny choked on his drink and gave the couch arm a good thump with his foot, “Not even! All my plants are Eudicots, an while yeah a couple names were popular among both classes, ain’t nothing Sannguinnnnnn..”

“Nothing?” North looked at him different now, and Bunny stared at the ceiling in thought, because no, that wasn’t right. “You did not name anything after them? Did you hate them so much”

“Named one,” Bunny slurred, setting his drink down on the floor and rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Maybe he did have too much to drink. “Just one.”

“Who was it?”

“He was beautiful North,” Bunny whined, throwing an elbow over his face, he really was too drunk, “s’most beautiful Pooka ye ever saw, like starlight. Ye’d love him, biggest fucking disaster would be you two in a room, he designed most of the bleeding warren ye’know. I just followed the blueprints and they’ve stood for millennia now. Strewth, ye’d be a pair.” He couldn’t imagine the headache that would be. “I wouldn’t be here without him, an without me he…” That’s right, oh that was why his heart hurt when he said the word, why he never said it, why it felt heavy and awkward on his tongue. The only S.Class he had memorialized… “Without me, he wouldn’t be dead.”

There was a long silence as North processed that confession, then he snapped the book shut and stood on creaky knees. “We need more drinks.”

“s’ my shout.” Bunny grumbled, but didn’t even attempt to stand.

“No no, you stay put.” North waved him as he staggered to the bar and grabbed a whole bottle of amber colored something. Then picked up two glasses from the floor at random and wobbled back over, sitting heavily down on the floor at Bunny’s shoulder. “Tell me of him.” He said, pushing a cup into Bunny’s hand.

“Hell.” Bunny breathed, then grinned and clinked their glasses together, if he was going to get pissed and spill his guts to North, it might as well be about his love life.

~*~

“This is my cousin.” S. Alpina Bursmund had stated plainly to Aster as he was checking over his cargo one last time. Her arms had been firmly at her sides and her ears had been straight forward, her body language all dominance. “S. Cantabrica Bursartem, who will be assisting you with the planet.”

The pooka beside Alpina was a small, slim thing, hardly more than a juvenile and certainly not someone experienced enough for a mission to a new world, particularly the world they were all going to evacuate to. Aster opened his mouth to argue, then clicked it shut as his commander’s blue-star eyes went hard and dangerous. Alpina may have been an S.class, but she was a Mund to her core and was fully capable of obliterating him.

“Cantabrica is a skilled Infrartem and will be responsible for overseeing the structural integrity of all warrens and Constellan buildings. You, Aster, have no professional history with architecture and it has been decided that an Infrartem would be assigned to you for the development of the new world. This new planet is not like any other colony, it is imperative that the world be ready for habitation upon arrival of the refugees.” Alpina’s voice went low and threatening, “He is considered VITAL to this mission.”

Aster said nothing, the message was pretty clear at this point, so he simply nodded and turned back to his work.

Alpina, assured of Aster’s cooperation, turned and spoke softly to the young buck, gently touching a hand to one creamy brown ear, it was an intimate gesture and spoke very much of the bond between the cousins. Then she turned and began marching away, back to her station, leaving the two alone.

It wasn’t the first time he’s had an Infrartem assigned to him during a terraform mission, each new Colony was given over to members of the Pollux to govern, as members of the Royal Family they were guaranteed some level of management. Some, like Alpina, worked their way through their chosen Trades to reach their high positions, others were trained from maturity for it, assured of their place, with tutors and guides all dedicated to ensuring they were groomed to fit the position only they could fill.

Aster should have figured they’d give the refugee colony over to one of their own, though he had hoped as a communal colony made up of over a hundred planets that no singular governing body would rule. He had assumed each Contellan House would dictate to their people from their moon bases until other planets within the Solar System could be terraformed to house them, but apparently the Pookan Council wanted to ensure absolute authority over Terra based governance, it was a bold move, the Geminorum was already a powerful house among the Constellans, near equal to the Lunanoffs, if they established control of the central colony it would give them a dangerous level of influence over the other houses.

“I suggest,” Aster spoke up after several minutes of the young pooka standing and watching him silently, “that you see to your cargo. Once I have this loaded we will be leaving, and I will not load you supplies for you.”

“My cargo has already been stored.” The Pooka’s voice was soft and low, and a little flat. Aster turned to him, taking in his casual uncontrolled stance, the kind of way an S.Class who had never been through the Eumundi training held themselves.

“Right,” Aster growled irritated, “suppose any objections I had were just disregarded from the start.”

“It would not have mattered,” Cantabrica stated plainly, eyes as flat as his voice, “if you had not been agreeable you would have been replaced.”

The rage was like a solar flare within him, instantaneous, powerful, and then gone. “Naturally,” he said, voice just as flat, though nowhere as soft. Alpina was from the main Pulsatilla family, a direct line to the original Ranuncula tribe, who had ruled their home planet and continued to rule their colonies. It didn’t matter that he was the best, that he had thousands of terraformed colonies under his tradename and was a decorated officer of the Chronomunds, he was an E.class Aster of the colony born Euastrids, the choice between an E. Euastrid and an S. Pulsatilla was obviously no contest.

“Do you require my assistance?” Cantabrica asked drolly.

“No.” Aster turned his back and finished tying his equipment to the hover-pallet to be stocked in his ship.

“Very well, I will see you onboard then.” The brown Pooka cut a barely noticeable bow of the ears, little more than a flick downward, and slid off towards the ship.

Aster could already tell he was going to hate this, the fluid grace of the brown pooka’s gait was already getting on his nerves, that careless way S.class slid through everything, like they just expected others to move. It pissed him off.

Ah well, if Cantabrica was like any of the other Infrartems he had been forced to work with he would go into stasis sleep for most of the long flight, and Aster could enjoy a long stretch of time to himself to plan his new world.

He’d hate to think how well they’d get on with an entire world around them, dealing with him in the confined space of the shuttle? Nightmares worthy of Pitch Black himself.

 


	2. Bed of Nails

Cantabrica was a quiet, sullen Pooka.

He had not, as Aster had hoped, settled in to hyper-sleep as was the habit of the previous Infrartem, Aster had discovered that around the third time-cycle when he had startled them both by walking into him outside the nutri-unit.

The Pooka, short of fur and of stature, also seemed to have a short temper, and had snapped at him. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I could assume as much of you?” Aster had shot back, and they stared each other down. Cantabrica had the same blue dwarf-star eyes as his cousin, a unique and slightly intimidating color, and they burned like copper chloride, all the more unsettling set into that rich brown face. “I have work, if you must know.”

“Tch.” The nutri-unit beeped and Cantabrica opened the door between them, nudging Aster hard in the arm. “So do I,” he said as he collected his food and closed the unit with a snap, then he turned on his heel and disappeared back into his quarters.

Aster watched him go, rubbing his elbow where the unit door had smacked him. Someone that pretty had no business being that rude, then again it was likely because Aster was an E.class, probably would have been a real charmer if he had been around other snotty S.class Pooka. What did the brat even have to work on? Every Pollux Infrartem had an entire team of Pooka designing their warrens for them, all they had ever had to do was give it a glance over once Aster had finished his terraforming for any changes to be made then pass it off to the Erginfra to actually build it all.

A sudden realization had Aster tapping away on the access screen of the nutri-unit, Aster hadn’t been prepared at all for a secondary passenger, hadn’t requisitioned any additional rations; if Cantabrica wasn’t going into stasis soon…

He breathed a sigh of relief when the screen displayed their food stores, apparently the supplies the other Pooka had loaded before they were introduced had included rations, high quality ones too if he was reading their code numbers correctly, some of them even perishable.

Aster hadn’t had fresh fruit since his last terraform. His officer’s ranking had him back on the combat roster almost as soon as the second Fearling War had started.

It was a temptation, his paw hovered over the display, but he didn’t want to give the S.class any chance to accuse him of wrongdoing. He programmed in his usual daily ration and waited for the nutria-unit to retrieve and prepare it, eyes straying longingly to the fresh salad on option.

It wouldn’t be long, Aster promised himself, once he had the actual outlay of the lands and terrains sorted out he’d start in on his plants. Then he could have all the fresh fruit and greens he could want.

He looked forward to it, experimenting with the different hybrids he’d create for each ecosystem. He’d have to change things here and there, when the refugee moon bases arrived, they’d mix up any seasons he attempted to create so it was best to just leave that be for a time. Should he take some samples from the current indigenous plant life? Maybe if it were just the Pooka he could… but no. With this many different planets coming it’d be best to wipe the planet clean. Couldn’t take the risk the world had evolved something dangerous to any of the refugees.

He’d have to snowball the planet regardless, couldn’t shift around that much land mass if he had to deal with flooding in his tunnels every time they moved. So he’d set up a grow house once he polarized the icecaps, something to play with between continents. He had everything he needed to support all the different races seeking safety in his seed vault, he’d just… tweak them a bit. So that they would all grow on the same planet.

He took his meal with him into his own room, ideas already curling around his mind like vines.

The cycles drifted by like this, with Aster focused on his plans and Cantabrica making occasional surly appearances. Aster had kept to his own quarters for a time, but eventually decided to spread out beyond his room as he usually did when his fellow passengers went into stasis when it became clear the other Pooka wasn’t going to venture outside his own room except when necessary. It was fine, Aster was used to having the place to himself, and it wasn’t like it was a hardship to watch the hostile S.class slink from his hole to the nutri-unit and back. He was, after all, a particularly attractive buck.

It was on one of these occasions that Aster realized there was something a bit deeper going on with his partner.

He had his designs set up on the conference table across from the nutri-unit, his ration shake had gone cold on the coaster beside him as he fiddled with the dimensions of the continent he was planning. He’d already gathered all the continents into a pile, fitting them together like puzzle pieces, but no matter how he organized them around the world one area was always overbalancing. He liked egg shapes, in school they had always touted the ovid as the superior design for everything from escape pods to bassinets, but it was not an ideal shape for a planet. If he left it like this the world would eventually teeter its way right into the sun. Oh, it would take a few millennia, but Aster had never been in favor of controlled obsolescence, particularly in regard to colony worlds.  He intended for this this planet to last, so that meant carving out a big chunk of that mountain range and sticking it somewhere else.

He was enjoying the creation of this island continent when Cantabrica came up beside him, scaring the light clear out of him. “You’re shifting the land masses?”

“Sweet Poppy!” Aster startled, jerking his stylus and slashing across his tablet, severing the continent in two and knocking his nutritional shake off the table. “What are you doing here?”

Cantabrica gave him a flat look, “I believe we established I wasn’t sleeping.”

“You could have let me know you were lurking behind me like a Dream Pirate.” Aster snapped, grabbing a towel and mopping the green paste off the fur on his thighs. Great, now he’d have to take another sanitation cycle. He hated getting wet.

“I didn’t realize I was required to announce my presence, my apologies, I’ll endeavor do so going forward.”

“Don’t get snotty.” Aster threw the towel on the floor where the cleaning drones were busy clearing the mess. “Perfect, now I have to-” he tapped furiously at the console trying to undo the damage on his rendering, couldn’t have slashed at a simple sketch, no, had to make him cut through on a simulation. Now the damn thing was severing the continent and running analysis on how the new shapes would function in the location he’d set it. “No helping it, damn it all.” He dumped the whole session, back to before he started factoring wind and ocean currents, all he’d not made a single note in... he glanced at the disk slowly rotating through the cycles and screwed his eyes shut.

“Why did you shift the land masses?” Cantabrica asked, leaning over Aster’s chair and studying the tablet. “Changes this dramatic will crack the crust, you won’t be able to stabilize it again. The land will never stop moving.”

“I know that.” Aster growled, exiting out of his rendering in defense. He didn’t need some newly molted juvenile criticizing his work. Cantabrica apparently didn’t care, and tapped the main file on his tablet, sending it to the conference table viewer. “Excuse you!”

“You’ve completely rearranged every continent.” Cantabrica circled the table, studying the huge holograph of the planet. “Why would you-?”

“The Colonies need different climates, different vegetation, different terrain. We’re making a world for hundreds of different planets here, each with their own different basic needs.” Aster brought up the render again, this time running his previous calculations based on what certain plants needed to grow wild. “I have millions of plant samples with specific growing requirements as a control for how wildly the micro-climes of each land mass can differ without being dangerous to the refugees.”

“If its so dangerous for them we can house them in controlled buildings.” Cantabrica’s eyes were narrowed at the fluctuating graphs as the computer ran through the environmental expectations of each plant vs landmass.

“In which case we can just plop them down on any of the other planets in the system.” Aster pointed out. “If we’re just dropping them in any old hostile environment, why bother bringing them to this world at all?”

Those blue fire eyes flicked to him in irritation, then Cantabrica tisked, scowling one last time at the viewer and the floating, spinning hologram before marching back towards his room.

Aster sighed, shaking his head. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand this was perhaps the most dramatic change he had ever made to a single planet on his own, which was why they had pulled him from the battle to do it. Aster wouldn’t consider it boastful to consider himself the best in the Bunny trade, since coming into his majority he had found an affinity for stone and soil, how it could be moved and shaped, what it needed to support life, it was like each planet could speak to him in their own way.

It wasn’t unusual to change trades once a Pooka completed their Masters training, the way their magic matured could often drag someone into a talent or affinity never explored before, but Aster had been a decorated and respected Chronomund, well on his way to achieving Burs status. Even after all this time he still couldn’t properly explain it, the way that the world around him had felt, how colors that should have gone well together suddenly clashed, how the curve of a warren through a hill had frustrated him, he’d taken to redesigning things in his spare time, spending his cycles in the Time Stream thinking of how this planet or that moon base could be better nurtured instead of focusing on the current events of the world he monitored.

Now, before he even reached the planet, he could feel it pulling at him. Could see how the land masses would fit together as he piled them in the center, then how they would move as he slid them apart, each to their own little corner.

He reached out and tapped his tablet, bringing the hologram back down to his own work area. Yes, it was a drastic change, but it was the best course to reach the true, full potential of this one little blue ball.

A clatter had him looking to see Cantabrica striding back out of his room, arms full of his own equipment.

“What are you doing?” He asked as three tablets and half a dozen wearable memory cards were dumped onto the table.

“What does it look like?” Cantabrica stated, toggling the connections so that the viewer brought up his own programs. “I’m working. I must completely redesign my structures and metropolitan areas, the shifting tectonic plates are going to cause massive structural damage otherwise. I need you to keep me updated on your wind current simulations as well, and any weather deposits I would have to design a collection or retention system for.” Cantabrica bit the end of his stylus, uncapping it to reveal a laser pointer underneath, which he used to direct several small spherical drones that had followed him from his room to begin setting all the clutter into some measure of order.

“You don’t have to worry about-”

“Where did you pull the mountains from?” Cantabrica cut him off, recapping his indicator and sitting in the stool beside Aster, slashing furiously at one of the tablets the drones had connected to the holo viewer.

“Mountains?” Aster tried to focus on his section of the viewer, but the multitude of programs running directly beside him with walls of coding scrolling past was drawing his gaze.

“I need bedrock, highly compressed bedrock is the only thing I can safely settle large structures on.”

“I know the importance of bedrock.” Aster said shorty, and Cantabrica scowled at him. “Which mountains?”

“You shaved off a large portion of landmass,” Cantabrica indicated Aster’s little pet-project island “to even out the shape and rotation of the planet. I’d like to build my largest and as such heaviest structures there, concentrate the population density skywards to ease overburdening softer terrain.”

“I took it from the underside,” Aster explained, and set his own program to run the alignment simulations, where he removed the overly large mountains from the most southern area, causing a multitude of volcanic eruptions as veins were exposed. “But this area’s climate will be incredibly hostile due to its positioning and lack of exposure to the system’s Star. Additionally, the ice on top of the bedrock will be unstable, with open shifting fissures.”

Cantabrica made a frustrated sound and began once again slashing at his tablet in violent strokes.

“Towering structures are unlikely to be necessary,” Aster reassured him kindly, “Most will live underground in the warrens.”

“As you pointed out we aren’t just building for Pooka,” Cantabrica flicked at a drone and the scrolling code ceased, closing the countless windows and opening a huge detailed image of Aster’s planet, without all his changes, the egg scribbled on with grids and curls and dots indicating the cities and buildings set to be established there.

It was the most detailed and visually pleasing design Aster had ever seen on any planet. It fit beautifully with the natural land formations, changing very little of the surrounding terrain, working with the mountains and waterways instead of against it, even as it appeared to follow the culture and artistry of many different planets.

Whatever team had put this together had to have flawless compatibility, like the components in a machine, not even his Terraforming magic found fault in the design.

Then before his eyes, with a few quick strokes of a stylus, he saw the world shift. The display began to alter itself, mimicking the changed he had made, as the two holo images of the planet slid together on the viewer. The rendering program tried to keep up, rearranging buildings and transportation ways, clustering and dispersing cities but it wasn’t long before the multitude of tasks interfered with each other. The wind program still ran, and the new arrangements of buildings narrowed its path until a community park was bending under the force of the gales, bridges lengthened and lengthened as continents shifted away, until they were so drawn out they were breaking apart in the ocean.

The program canceled out the auto-shifts in favor of focusing on other tasks and Aster saw the structures finally buckle, buildings shook apart and warrens collapsed. It was a tragedy, seeing such a beautiful design crumble, but Cantabrica just watched it with that same calculating eye he had studied Aster’s own changes with. Eventually the two holograms completed their joining and the two stood witness to the remains of what could have been a jewel of any colonies.

“Not much left to salvage,” Cantabrica sighed, then rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck before slouching down in his seat and focusing on his tablet.

“I’m sure we can-” Aster tried, but the other Pooka was already scribbling away on his device.

“Nope. No. It would take too long to pick through the pieces,” Cantabrica interrupted, and Aster watched with a sick disappointment as the rubble was wiped away from the screen, along with whatever few things could have been saved. The Infrartem was deleting it all. “I’ll just start from scratch. Keep me appraised on new changes,” he paused, looking up at Aster, “please.” He finished. “I can better alter the designs if I have some warning.”

“Y-yes.” Aster managed around his surprise.

He’s never had an S.class say please to him before.

Cantabrica watched him a moment, then nodded and returned to his work. Aster sighed, those eyes were bringing back Cadet flashbacks, the buck was far too similar to his cousin. The intensity, coupled with their color, had likely gotten the Pooka near anything he’d wanted in life.

Aster looked back to his planet, the last of the rubble gone, now the only evidence of their meshed designs was the windows full of scrolling code indicating the rendering programs running in the background.

“This is going to take some time,” Cantabrica spoke again, not looking up from his task, “we’ll need fuel.” He uncapped his stylus again and sent a drone towards the nutria-unit, then paused, his ear flicking and nose twitched as he considered something. “Would you… like something?” He asked, stylus moving again. “Or shall I order you another of those disgusting supplement shakes you favor?”

Aster blinked, wondering if he heard right. “Uh…, I wouldn’t say no to a salad.”

“sweet or tart?”

“Tart, please.” Cantabrica flicked his stylus at the drone again between keystrokes, and Aster turned to marvel at the basic outline appearing on the screen, smooth flowing lines becoming the most basic foundations of a warren. Freehand. The buck was doing this freehand.

Aster settled back in to his own designs, working just as intently beside the S.Class and doing his best not to comment as their food was set between them like a peace offering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cana isn’t so bad, he’s just a brooding teenager with zero social skills outside of intensive education and training.


	3. Bed of Roses (Thorns & All)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where is Jack in all this?

Jack didn’t understand. At all.

“But I’ve never been able to...”

“Jack.” Chuck was, perhaps, a little justified in his snappish response. Seeing as how Jack had dropped in on him some 2 hours ago amidst an impressive flurry of weather reports and complaints to dump his usual mountain of issues. “You are a **GUARDIAN,** I really don’t think I can stress how much that is going to change your abilities.” Chuck scampered from one barely organized stack of irate storm complaints to his stack of scheduled storms, then back to his tack board. “And, again, I cannot stress enough, that **I** ,” he pointed one furry little paw at himself, “am not qualified to council you on the nuances of Belief based power. I’m barely a holiday figure as it is.”

“And I am?” Jack cackled in spite of the seriousness and dropped down from his perch on the huge frame of the U.S. map to sit on one of the precarious stacks of papers. “Look at me, I’m an ' _expression'_ remember?”

Chuck gave him a harried half hearted glare at his choice in seating, but finally **finally** sighed and set his work down. “Jack, I don’t think you really understand the difference between a belief based figure and, well, anything else.” Chuck scratched behind a furry ear as he cast about for a reasonable explanation, since everything he’d tried to teach the sprite the near fifty years they’d known each other tended to go in one frost bit ear and out the other.

Jack tended to lack… sticking levels of attention, and Chuck’s burrow was usually full of enough clutter and shifting papers to distract the boy from whatever lesson he’d tried to impart that wasn’t a straight answer, and their existence was far from straight. He didn’t want to even think of what dear old St.North had dealt with when this famed Guardian Meeting had taken place. Jack at the Pole? _Ho boy_ that was a mess right there.

“Do you remember what I’ve told you before?” He asked, hoping to get at least some groundwork out of the way. “About why you never faded even though no one sees you?”

“You said its because I’m a seasonal?”

“Something like that, yes.” Chuck went down on all fours to scurry away from the map towards his table, where his breakfast had been interrupted by a series of sudden, unseasonable complaints about storms. Something he’d had to assure Jack several times was not his fault. His table had been a gift, ironically enough from Bunnymund, soon after he had gained sentience in a way and it had helped to understand his own purpose.

“There are those of us who exist because we are believed in. Some, like me, come into being when a particular idea or belief becomes popular enough to warrant an icon of some kind.” Chuck moved his plate and mug and carefully brushed crumbs from the engraved octagram on the table as Jack crouched next to him, Chuck would offer up a seat, but even Jack’s skinny behind wouldn’t be able to fit in something that small. “And others who existed before, but gained power because of belief, like Santa Clause.”

“Yeees?”

“And then there’s you.” Chuck pointed to the many pointed star on the table. “See, you could fall under an idea of Frost given form, except you existed before you had an icon, unlike me who only ‘woke up’ once I had an icon. You could also have, since regaining your memories, been classified like the rest of the Guardians, who were people that created their legends and won their icons from that, or you could be like a Deity who is worshiped or remembered as being worshiped, or a manifestation of one of the many different beliefs in spirits, or like the Fae.” Chuck indicated each point on the star where the icons of well known spirits were, some like Chuck, were very firmly in their own bracket, while others drifted closer to the inner lines or another point, and some, like Bunny and Tsar Lunar, were very firmly in the center of it all.

Seeing Jack’s line of sight Chuck tapped his finger on Bunny. “Sometimes you have more than one belief base, like the Man in the Moon, everyone believes in the Moon because it’s there and we can all see it, he’s not tied down to his legend or any of the religious gods tacked onto him, his belief is tied to the very real very constant physical presence, same as Bunnymund and Mother Nature,” he drew his claw along the line towards the last star point, “same as you.”

“Me?” Jack’s wandering mind snapped from his musings on Bunny to Chuck’s face. “I thought I was…” he indicated the point with the manifestations, where Chuck had always told him he probably was, “like a frost sprite or something.”

“That’s what we all did too.” Chuck drummed his claws on the table. “In fact there was a theory that you were the leftover manifestation of the two jotnar Jokul and Frosti.” He grimaced here. “This did not make the surviving Nords happy, whenever a split among icons happens that usually means one will usurp the other. Like North does with all his splits.”

“North fights other Santas?” Jack’s face lit up like a cat who just spotted a songbird.

“Of course not,” Chuck scoffed, then paused, “well not to the death, he makes them into mall Santas.” Chuck chortled, “Come on Jack, you ever actually see a Christmas Witch?”

“No,” Jack pouted, “I guess not.”

“Course not, North was behind and the other Guardians pitched – ha ha laugh it up you pun addict.” Chuck socked a giggling Jack’s arm. “The Tooth Fairy was caught leaving gifts so now she’s got her own thumb in North’s holiday pie.”

“I mean, didn’t she already?” Jack grinned, sharp and wicked and Chuck winced.

“We don’t talk about that. Jack, please, literally nobody talks about that. Santa does not have a sex life.”

“Oh yes he does.” Jack cackled, kicking his feet up in the air and floating effortlessly above the buckets of TMI he just dumped all over Chuck’s workspace.

“My point.” Chuck said sternly, grabbing Jack’s staff by the dangling crook to yank the airheaded brat back on topic, “is that until you gained believers and got your own chapter in the big book of heavyweight champions, you weren’t on the map so to speak.”

“Wait.. I’m on the table?” Jack peeked down at Chuck’s paw, impatiently tapping at a hexagon shape. Looking closer it was clear the carving was a snowflake, with fern lines forming the star center. “That’s.. not very accurate. Hexogonal plates don’t have ferns, only stellar dendrites do, I mean they could maybe have something similar but the two types form under different conditions-“

“Jack, I think you’re missing the point here.”

“Oh?” He looked up from where his nose was pressed close to the wood inspecting his etching. “Oh yeah, I guess, but… I mean is this really reliable? Its not like, you know, infallible. If it got the snowflake wrong.”

“Uuuhg, Jaaack.” Chuck scrubbed at his face in frustration. This boy could not stay on topic. “It is as close to accurate as anything can be, its tied to an index in Bunnymund’s warren. Its like our own version of a globe of belief, only much deeper and more complex. I don’t know, North and Bunny designed it.”

“Bunny made this?” Jack brushed his fingers across the engraving in awe.

“Yes, so if you have issues with your emblem take it up with him, cuz its most likely your Guardian symbol.” Chuck looked frazzled as the wind drifted in through his tunnel entrance, depositing a new flurry of papers onto his stacks. “Look, to get back on topic, you fall into the same category as Mother Nature and Bunnymund and Old Man Winter, you don’t need a belief base because the thing you’re tied to **exists,** you’re not an icon of Frost, you **ARE** frost, and so long as someone believes in so much as the chance of a frost they believe in you. Your name and legend are just kind of, add-ons.”

“So what, I drowned and just took over belief in frost?” Jack crossed his legs and looked very skeptical.

“I don’t know Jack, I don’t have all the answers, look at me!” Chuck indicated to himself. “I’m the Groundhog, I’m the guy everyone blames for the actions of hundreds of wild animals they just decided predicted the weather one day. Used to be I popped out of the ground, saw my shadow, and went back to sleep and the only issue I worried about was if some nonconformist weather sprite didn’t follow Bunnymund and Mother Nature’s plans for that year. I’m _REALLY_ not the guy to ask existential questions to.”

“I guess.” Jack conceded, finally settling down crossed legged on the table. “I just… sorry Chuck I don’t mean to dump on you. I just… don’t really have anyone to talk to.”

Uuuuhhhg. Great, guilt.

“Yeah, I know.” Chuck hopped up on the table and put a paw gently onto Jack’s knee. “Wish I could help Jack, I really do, but I’m not one of those ancient and wise spirits that usually plague the seasons. I’m just me, same as you.”

"Hey,I happen to like 'just you." Jack smiled, fragile, and Chuck counted that as something.

"Yeah well, I like 'just you' too." He admitted, "As much as you've put me on everyone's Shit List over the years."

Jack ducked his head, but his smile didn't falter so they were beyond that patch of thin ice at least. “Tell you what," he chirped, "if you promise to pack up all your trust issues long enough to visit one of your new high and mighty coworkers, I’ll let you have a stack of Groundhog predictions.”

“Really?” Jack perked up immediately.

“Of course, not like anyone was going to follow them anyway.” He indicated the ancient fax machine in the corner currently printing out this year’s asinine assumptions. “Raise Hell.”

Jack whooped and dove for the stack, taking as least six inches off of it before darting out the burrow with a “Thanks Chuck! You’re the best!” and a wild gust of wind.

Chuck could only shake his head and smile, even as his organized stacks of weather reports were scattered.

Moon but he loved that kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay but I'm a huge fan of Jack/Groundhog brotp and that being why Bunny is against him in the beginning.   
> So Jack's little power issue was glossed over, but I'll get more into that as he visits North (and Bunny)
> 
> Returning to the Cana/Aster bed sharing flashbacks next chapter.


	4. Procrustean bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings sift between Bunny and Cantabrica, and Jack's painful headaches give way to even more painful truths.

 

“So you made peace with each other.” North was rattling around in the liquor cabinet, looking for something Bunny couldn’t figure among all the other bottles Bunny couldn’t be assed to name.

“S’mthing like that, yeah.” He was still lounging on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head, ears drooping down into his face like a lop. He’d asked an elf for a bit of water and gotten a whole ass jug so was alternating drinking whatever North handed him and refilling the glass from that. He didn’t want to lose his buzz, unlike North his metabolism would run through all the gut rot long before morning, but it took a toll of its own. Great for flushing out poisons, but it meant he didn’t stay drunk very long and his hangovers were five times worse.

It had been funny drinking an entire bottle of antifreeze in front of the ancient and revered gods of booze, revelry, and bad decisions just to prove a point. Still didn’t mean he enjoyed it, just because he could drink rectified spirits didn’t mean he wanted to, so North’s mad search for his strongest liquor was pointless, which he knew, but every time he got just this side of too drunk he went pushing the same boundaries. Which is probably why the elves brought up an entire jug when Bunny’d asked for water, knowing North was nearing his impressive limit.

Not that you could tell a Russian that.

“It wasn’t sudden,” He continued, thinking back on the shift between tense mutual avoidance towards something like friendship. Unlike now his past self hadn’t looked back on their interactions all at once with new eyes, he hadn’t had all the information Bunny did, but he had started to see Cantabrica different going forward. That meal with Cantabrica had been a kind of shift in Aster’s perspective, like he had been reading an ancient translated text without historical context. It seemed strange to compare a fruit salad and vinegar dressing to uncovering the period slang definitions in his research, but they both had the same effect.

His stiff, tense posture and way of speaking, so formal and clipped, his defensiveness, his surly attitude. Cantabrica had been just as awkward as Aster, just as off base and uncomfortable, but unlike his past self who had been blissfully unaware of just how bad things had gotten in the war, how desperate the Constellan Houses and the Pookas in particular had been, Cantabrica had no such ignorance. He’d had a mission that Aster could never have understood back then, and only barely did now.

The First Light was a terrible burden, and guarding it, ferrying it, through the deepest space with no help, no protection, and an unknown outsider would put anyone on edge.

All the Aster of that time had thought as they sat there working side by side and Cantabrica would rattle off some string of demands, Bunny would never call them questions, while he scribbled all over a copy of the planet, was that he’d never met a more high maintenance Infrartem. It had made Aster anxious, both trying to answer the commands as well as his own work, it was difficult to make changes to the world when he knew Cantabrica’s own designs relied on him for a foundation.

He really didn’t want to see something beautiful ripped apart like that again.

After the fifth cycle of their back and forth Aster had felt his nerves fray and had begun to answer each demand more snappishly. Realizing he was close to losing his patience and ruining this strange truce they had only just built he closed his own programs and stood. Pooka didn’t need much sleep, no more than ten cycles every one hundred rotations, but they did need rest and physical activity after so many cycles at a desk. Aster was irritated and had already been hard at work before Cantabrica had intruded, he needed to work through his frustrations.

Cantabrica didn’t seem startled or upset at his sudden departure, still the cool distant pooka, but as Aster gathered his things he noticed the other’s ears tremble.

It was a subtle tell, not something an experienced Eumundi would ever give away, Basic Training was all about maintaining absolute control of your body, most especially your ears which easily broadcast your innermost thoughts, a body language left over from their days as a peaceful people on their home planet. Cantabrica was young, and his control was to be commended for his age, but that lack of experience broke under long periods of strain and distraction. He was a Pollux, the most elite of the S.class, never to face mandatory enlistment or rigorous training, never to sit for cycles on end, rotation after rotation of watchful guard or immovable stillness during a hunt.  His training had never been tested under lethal circumstances, and it was breaking.

It was only because he had been observing him, carefully out of his peripheral, that he noticed the young buck’s eyes slide to him quickly and then away, barely a pause in his work, but his ears and whiskers did an interesting nervous flick.

Huh.

Aster couldn’t help it, amusement tugged at his cheeks like a cooing auntie. He had enough restraint to keep it there though, and not a whisker tattled on him.

If he had been an E.class subordinate Aster probably would have noticed it sooner, the rigidity, the stiff formality, the reclusive habits and waspish attitude. It was all typical of young, eager cadets on their first assignment with a superior. Serious, by the book, overworking.

Well, even if he was an S.class it seemed a juvenile was still a juvenile.

“Don’t forget to take a rest cycle,” he spoke up as he passed, “and hit the training room for exercise, if you sit too long you’re reactions will be effected if we are attacked.”

Cantabrica’s ears followed him, but his eyes never left his work as he replied. “Understood.”

The “Sir” probably physically hurt to not say, the way the buck’s lips firmed and his eyes narrowed he’d probably almost slipped.

Ah, to be young and freshly ranked. Aster had said sir to several of the higher ups in his own crew his first half-revolution after he ranked up in the Chronomunds. It was a hardship when you were suddenly one of the Pooka in charge.

He wanted to ask how long ago Cantabrica had gotten his rank, to commiserate together over frustrations of being the one people go to for solutions even when you weren’t the most qualified in the group, simply because you were the boss. He found himself, for the first time in a world building mission with a infrartem on board, wanting to talk like they weren’t Pollux and Euastrid, weren’t Sanguinaria and Eudicot, just as a two Pooka.

But they had already been at this long enough, and he knew better than to interrupt the workflow with mundane unrelated conversations. Best to beat a hasty retreat and file these questions away for later, perhaps when they found themselves with nothing else to talk about. If Cantabrica was inclined to keep him company again.

As he set his records to rights in his quarters and headed towards the training room he considered the implications of simply being two ordinary ranked Pooka, without the walls of the Classes. Thinking back on his genealogy lessons wasn’t the Cantabrica name from the Astrid tribe? One of the branches, the Ericales if he remembered his family trees. So if he took away the class system, the S and the E that separated them, weren’t they from the same tribe?

He removed his outer coat and started the first of his stretches, going through techniques that were drilled into every Eumundi until they became second nature. The familiar motions freed up his mind to consider the implications of an Astrid name among the Pollux.

His clan had a family tree in their warren, constantly growing, new names carved into the stone walls of his home until you had to walk from one end to the other for several revolutions before you’d name every pooka, but so many of the older families ended abruptly, the ones that had remained on the planet and became S class, the ones who refused to add their line to the E.Class Euastrids. Tribes were important to the Astrids, while the other families embraced their class system the Astrids never had, still using clan markings, still updating their family trees, and still always following the naming traditions. An Azealia or a Cassiope were an Astrid, an Alpina or Helebore were Ranuncula, and a Lotus or Macadamia were Proteales, Aster could trace a pooka to their clan based only on their given name, as all Astrids were taught.

He slipped from the warmup positions into the more advanced motions, feeling a pleasant burn in his muscles as they strained to accommodate. There was an ache in his spine, just above his shoulder blades and below his neck, and he left off his musings to focus on moving his body both physically and internally, concentrating on shifting of tendons and bone and blood flow to alleviate the inflammation until the tense discomfort from the bunching muscles fell away.

He’d been at the conference table longer than he had intended so it didn’t surprise him his body was developing complaints but at least here he could afford to stand and stretch. During his time stationed as a Chronomund, and all the way back even to his Eumundi days, he’d had to learn how to manipulate his body to avoid the physical consequences of staying in one position motionless for rotations on end. In comparison a few cycles at a desk was nothing. Still, he didn’t have the room to really open up and give his body the full workout it needed.

Just as he finished his forms the door swished open and his companion entered. He held his last position perhaps a little longer than necessary to observe him from his peripheral, and wondered again at his Astrid name. It was a rare thing for clans to share a name, historically only branch families from the same tribe shared names, like how the Rosids, Astrids, Dillenials, and Saxifrags were all descended from the breaking of the ancient Pentapetal Tribe, so ancient Petal names existed among them all.

He wanted to ask. About the rank and the family name and the connection to their tribe, but he didn’t know if S.Class families even cared about their tribal roots, he’d never known any to go by a clan name unless it was a Ranuncula of Papavera’s line.

He gave a little ear flick in acknowledgement of the buck’s arrival, and casually approached the holo wheel. Usually he set it to the wide meadows of one of his favorite planets he had built, endless green grass broken by algae and lily choked ponds and huge moss covered boulders, a perfect obstacle course to really get the best out of these cramped quarters, but this time he began his run without any holograms, crouching to all fours and launching onto the circular platform at full speed while in the corner of his eye he studied his companion’s own regime.

Like many S.class Cantabrica dressed in multiple layers, as a Eumundi and later a Bunnymund Aster couldn’t afford the restrictions of the flashy robes the S.class favored. Even the most fashionable E.Class eventually wore only their outer robe and leggings, if they bothered with leggings at all. Aster, in the comfort and privacy of the space ship, kept to a long outer robe and waspie, though ideally he’d prefer the more comfortable loose waist apron undergarments they always left him feeling too exposed. A Pooka’s pouch was the one part of their body they couldn’t reliably regenerate and he did have plans for children eventually, so even tens of revolutions after his retirement from the Chronomunds he still wore his waist armor.

Cantabrica had no such aversion, however. He had removed his sash, outer robe, and undershirt, standing in the open area of the room in his trousers and a thin wrap to guard his middle.

A lesser Pooka may have paused, may have stumbled in his run or hit one of the obstacles jutting from the wheel, but Aster was a trained Chronomund with half of his life devoted to watching the timestream flow past. Still, his heart rate spiked.

Cantabrica’s fur was a lush velvet that Aster had been envious of immediately, the Pulsatilla family was universally famous for their densely layered coat and his was a rich brown that bled into near black at his back and it seemed that the cream around his eyes and throat that pleasingly accentuated his rounded face and wide eyes also extended down his chest and, presumably, his belly.

Aster had been curious about Alpina’s coloring, particularly her eyes, back in the military; it wasn’t unheard of to have blue eyes but it was not common unless the pooka was also Leucistic. It was a genetic anomaly that ordinarily would never surface in the tightly controlled reproductive restraints they had.  He knew there were those in their corps who had asked where she had been incubated at, some even requesting she be a donor, but he’d never heard of a success. Small wonder, S.class genetics were rarely ‘wasted’ on E.class families.

Still, if Cantabrica and Alpina had similar eyes it would mean the genetic material was available within their clan, but neither of them wore any clan markings. Most S. class didn’t, and the Pollux never, because the Pollux children could come into their magical inheritance, could surpass the current Castor Rex in power and become the Heir. Traditionally one was part of the clan of the one who birthed them, but in the ages since the fall of their planet and the bottleneck of their species it left fewer genetic options available. It was why the Pooka Council controlled their fertilization and incubation so closely. E.class and S.class were also kept genetically separate to prevent the last gift of the World Tree and Queen Poppy from being diluted. As such only a voluntary donation of genetic material could be requested, and approval was at the discretion from the Council. Anyone could donate, but to receive donated material took decades of invasive monitoring.

Seeing how the war was going Aster wondered if he’d be given more planets after this one, once Pitch Black was defeated the refugees would likely return to their own planets, there would be a lot of focus on rebuilding so expansion would probably be on hold. He wondered if he could put in a request at the fertility clinic once this world was established or if he’d have to wait until a portion of his clan had migrated.

As the exercise wheel approached the end of its scheduled run it created more obstacles that Aster had to jump and twist to dodge, keeping his mind from wandering too far towards family planning, which was just as well because as it wound down and he bounded the last three protrusions up towards the platform he saw Cantabrica leaning against the guard rail, elbows crossed, watching him run.

And he tried not to think of the possibility of a kit with those same blue eyes.

“Impressive.” Cantabrica said as Aster landed.

He nodded, breathless, giving himself a little shake to settle the fur that had become matted with sweat.

He was a Chronomund, their training was more rigorous than any other military trade as they had to protect the actual timestream. Still, even among them he had been the fastest. He was used to praise.

Cantabrica passed him a container of water as Aster headed down to the showers, a strange hooded look in his eyes, before the wheel started slowly rotating again and the brown pooka gave him a subtle flick of the ears as goodbye and dived in.

Aster had drained most of the water before he realized Cantabrica had been drinking from that same bottle. Luckily he was already in the next room before he choked.

~*~

_“Cana.”_

Jack flinched, curling further into his microclimate wrap, but the voice chased him.

_“Cana.”_ A paw gently shook his shoulder. _“Time to wake Cana.”_

He squinted open his eyes at Alpina, who was perched on the side of his bed watching him with that stupid fond smile of hers.

“Go away.” He grumbled, pulling his wrap tighter around him and snuggling into the cushions of his lounge.

Pooka weren’t supposed to sleep more than a handful of cycles per revolution, at least the lower class Pooka weren’t, and even if the S.Class did get more rest in their easygoing lifestyle it wasn’t enough for Canadensis. Especially after the events of the last Rotation. He was just so tired.

And his entire body **hurt**.

From the other side of the room a soft laugh had his heart fluttering like a startled bird and he struggled to sit up in the cocoon he’d woven himself into. “DICENTRA!”

The white Pooka was leaning against his door, effectively blocking it from anyone who wanted to enter, and watching the two of them with open fondness.

Cana wanted to run to her but more than the wraps stopped him, “You weren’t there yesterday,” his lip trembled but he firmed it, he wasn’t going to whine, he was going to be firm like his mother ad tutors always were. He was an adult now. His first day as an adult.

“I got held up, but I’m here now.” She crossed the room in five quick strides and scooped Cana up blankets and all in her ridiculously huge arms and Cana, delighted, let her. “Here I thought you’d missed me.”

“Of course I did,” Cana insisted, peppering her face with kisses, “I did, I promise I did.”

“I can vouch for that,” Alpina snuck an arm around his back and he bared his teeth at her in what could be mistaken for a grin and gripped tighter, “He’s always impossible when you’re away.”

“Is that so?” he hid his face under her chin, “do you give your mother a hard time Canadensis?”

“No.” He mumbled into her dewlap, as soft and plush as it’s always been, though it was smaller than last time. Either she had lost weight or he’d grown again.

“He picked a fight with Capreolata two rotations ago.” Alpina, the traitor, laid out his sins, “He also blockaded the lower conference rooms, hacked his tutor’s personal tablet, and altered several new warren designs before submitting them to the InfraBunnies building them.”

“I fixed them!” Cana insisted, “Those designs were horrible! And Capri is aways picking on me! I only got a little paint on her,” he turned to look at Dicentra, pleading his case, “I didn’t use the permanent dyes, she’ll only be blue for a little while.”

Dicentra’s eyes were pained, the sad crinkles she got when he talked about the other Pullox kits that bullied him.

“What about your tutor?” She asked, setting him down on his lounge, though he staid hidden in his blanket. “I thought you liked Marigold?”

“He said I was a misfire.” Cana whispered, voice tight and angry. “He said I don’t belong here.”

“Oh.” She looked to Alpina, who shook her head.

It’s not like it was a well-kept secret, they should have known someone would have told his new teacher eventually, he didn’t understand why the clan was even pretending to hide it anymore. It seemed everyone but the colony born knew he was illegitimate.

Still, his parents seemed to have some kind of hope that his future as an S.class could somehow be preserved. Adults, in Cana’s experience, never accepted things as they were.

“Canadensis,” Dicentra kneeled before him to peek at his face inside his blankets, “Do you know the age the colony born Pooka reach magical maturity?”

He shook his head.

“They don’t have one.” She pulled the hood off his ears and stroked a finger along his brow, where his clan’s crest had been dyed into his fur. “They reach magical maturity only after countless revolutions and an unbreakble will, they must always strive for the smallest fraction of what we WorldBound Pooka are born to.” She glanced at Alpina beside him, who’s paws were clenched tightly in her lap.

“How old are you now Cana?” She asked.

“50 revolutions.” He mumbled. “Geminorum time.”

“So grown,” her smile was sad again, her eyes pinched, “50 whole revolutions already, and receiving your magical inheritance just yesterday.”

Cana sniffed, whipping his nose even though he hadn’t ben crying, “I’m of age now. I’m an adult.”

“Hmm,” she smiled that stupid adult smile they got when they were humoring him. “And not a studious bone in your body.” She poked him in the side and he fought against a smile, “now how could a Colony Pooka be so talented?” one finger became four became both hands and Cana was wiggling, trying to escape his blankets while laughing. “I don’t think we have an E.Class Pooka here, do you Alpina?”

“No.” her voice was flat, but when the two stilled to look at her she smiled, “definitely a high quality Pollux.”

“There, see.” Dicentra hauled him up and off the lounge, blankets falling to the floor, and set him on his feet. “Now, go brush yourself, your company is being requested.”

Cana bolted towards his vanity, barely hearing his mother whisper “Can-” before Alpina cut her off with a short “Don’t.”

He’s slept along time, his coming of age ceremony had been in the early cycles of yesterday and it was nearing dinner now, he’d slept near an entire rotation. He should probably bath, though other pooka did that about as often as they slept he’d always enjoyed it.

Alpina teased him that he could swim like a fish.

The other kits tormented him with accusations he was secretly part alien from a water world.

It wasn’t his fault he knew how to breathe underwater and the other kits didn’t, shapeshifting wasn’t even that hard. They all learned it when they hit puberty.

“Hey mom?” he called back to them, who were sitting silently on the lounge, holding hands. Yuk. Couldn’t they do that where he couldn’t see them? “Do I have time for a bath? Who are we visiting?”

Dicentra’s pinched face came back. “No, just a brush, and I’ve a new outfit for you too so don’t get dressed.” She pat Alpina’s paw and stood, walking towards his wardrobe. “You’re to visit your uncle Romneya.”

**_Romneya._ **

The current head of the Geminorum Family.

_Their Rex._

_"Cana?"_

_"Cana.._

_Can_

_.._

_._

_“Canadensis.”_

“Canadensis! Are you even listening?”

Cana startled, turning to face his companion.

“The Rex died.” Vernalis was an imposing buck, a full head taller than him with long proud ears, and colored a glorious golden brown with cream. Beside him Cana had always felt washed out and inferior, and their family had never failed to show they agreed. Excepting his own parents the rest of the Pollux had ever found him wanting.

There were standing in the ceremonial hall, where every S.Class Pooka received their Magical Inheritance upon their 50th birthday, and where an E.Class if they had proved themselves worthy could do the same.

It was somewhat hypocritical, Cana thought, to keep their history and culture locked up in a palace that floated through space when there were perfectly good planets being terraformed and still refer to themselves as WorldBound. But the Council had insisted that to house their sacred objects on a planet would be betrayal of their original planet. No, it was better to confine it to space to pay homage to their great loss.

The Geminorum family did so love to show off their terrible tragedies. Touting themselves as the ever wandering homeless species among the Constellan house.

“Those damn fearlings!” Vernalis was pacing the hall, the staff of the world tree in his hand striking out at the decorative vase that the Priests used to baptize them, but no magic flowed from it the way it did for the priests.

The way it did for Cana.

He snarled and Cana could only watch him as he paced. Vern was not a patient pooka on good days, and Cana had always been an eyesore to him. Now his notoriously short temper was at its breaking point. “They’re stronger than they used to be. That Constellan General is leading his nightmare army right to us and my useless father couldn’t even survive one assassination attempt.”

Cana didn’t think that was fare, but he hadn’t a very high opinion of Romneya since he’d first met the Rex the day after his coming of age.

When it was revealed he’d surpassed the current Castor Rex’s magical power.

When Vernalis, vicious and spiteful even then, had been passed over for an E.class pooka tainting their sacred halls.

There was no way to increase his power. For revolutions they had tried, but no one could unlock the secret to the World Tree staff that guided them into their magical inheritance, and no new Pooka had come of age who outranked him.

Cana had, in fact, outranked the Rex’s own power as well, an impossible to ignore achievement worthy of celebration. A Pooka with unrivaled power born in their time of need.

If only it had been anyone else. Any other Pollux kit but the unwanted white runt born to an E. Class mother. If only he hadn’t the distinctive fur of the Pulsatilla, if only he hadn’t had his mother’s unique eyes, if only they had been given any kind of room to leave him and his colony born mother among the other E. Class where he belonged and not risked exposing their corruption.

If if if, the what ifs and if onlys had followed him all his life, and now here he was again, in the same damn sacred hall with the same damn magic stick listening to how terrible it was that no one else but he could be the next Rex.

Not that he’d ever been allowed to learn how to lead.

“You!” Vern swung back to him after giving up trying to get the staff to work. It was never any use, the priests had studied for more than half their life to unlock the powers inside the remnants of the world tree, Vern was the only one allowed to wield it like a kit throwing a tantrum. All to help his magic grow. “Don’t you go thinking you’re in charge now just because you’re Castor. Even if they name you Rex no one is going to listen to you, everyone knows what you are!” he pointed the crook of the staff right in Cana’s face. “I’m the only one they listen to, I’m the real Castor and I will be the real Rex!”

“Of course you are Vern,” Cana’s voice was mild, placating, “I don’t know anything about being Rex, how could I lead?” They’d always planned to use him as a puppet.

“That’s right.” Vern smirked at him, nudging him harshly in the chest with the staff. “You’re just here because you cheated, you got all that power from the WorldTree when a Colony Born like you shouldn’t have even had a ceremony, E. Class don’t get their inheritance until they earn it.”

It was an old taunt, one his teachers and the priests had flung at him as he struggled with the impossible tasks they gave him to watch him fail, to prove he was unworthy of his power, that an E. Class would never handle magic and that was why they had to study before they were blessed.

“You don’t have to worry though,” Vern slid into his personal space, almost nose to nose, and pushed the staff into Cana’s hands, “just do as I say and everything will work out. They’ll listen if it’s from me.” He was so much bigger, but Cana had stopped being intimidated by his size when he was 63 and had used the training his Bursmund mother had taught him to send the spoiled brat to the infirmary.

Vernalis was large and powerful, but he was also soft and spoiled and weak.

The door slide open and Vern stepped away, smiling at their guest. “There you are, did you get it?”

Alpina paused, just a half step, in her stride when she saw Vern so close to Cana, but her training was too good to let her fury show. Cana could see it though, in the way the sheered fur on her ruff bristled and her shoulders went to solid stone.  “I’ve retrieved the First Light.”

“Excellent.” He clapped his hands like a child. “With this we can start the preparations.”

That got Cana’s interest.

What could possibly require the power of the first light? The only one he knew was… but it had been rejected by the council. It would kill whoever performed it.

“Don’t worry,” Vern turned back to him and his smile was a mad thing, “you’re so strong, all that power, it had to be for a reason. Poppy wouldn’t have given a Colony Born like you this much if she hadn’t wanted you to use it right?”

He met his mother’s eyes, a perfect mirror of his own, watched as the realization of what was intended creeped like tears into them. Watched her paws grip the capsule containing the first light, her claws gouging deep.

“What,” he almost couldn’t ask, had to subtly shake his head at his mom, just the barest of movements, as she moved in a violent manner towards them, he licked his teeth and tried again. “What must I do?”

“You won’t have to do anything.” Vern stroked his whiskers as he regarded his mother, who stopped beside him and presented him with the capsule in a much more aggressive jut of her arms than was necessary. “Cantabrica will do all the work.”

The egg capsule hit the floor, slipped from Alpina’s stunned, boneless hands.

~*~

Jack woke gasping, the horrified eyes of a pooka, of his mother, burned into his vision.

His mother.

Just what…

He clutched at his head as pain bloomed, a brutal skewer in the center of his forehead, and rolled over into the snow, unable to do anything but curl into himself and cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some art I've done of the Pooka, including Jack's Pooka form
> 
> [ https://rin0rourke.tumblr.com/post/185234051578/working-on-some-world-building-for-unmade-bed-we](https://rin0rourke.tumblr.com/post/185234051578/working-on-some-world-building-for-unmade-bed-we)
> 
> also an illustration of the Pooka Tribes, Clans, and Branch Families. Including Aster, Cantabrica, and Canadensis (Jack) as they relate to their tribes.
> 
> <https://rin0rourke.tumblr.com/post/185251078918/the-pooka-clan-tree-in-unmade-bed-we-lie-in>


	5. When Bed Bugs Bite

 

_“Cana…”_

Jack lurched awake at the shake of his shoulders, scattering the layer of ice that had grown over him and startling Sandy backwards.

“Sandy?” He struggled to concentrate, to think straight through the pain. “Was that dream… you?”

An exclamation point half formed in the dreamsand and Sandy hurrying back to his side was answer enough, though Sandy didn’t bother actually trying to communicate. The snow drift he was laying in was deep, had he drifted off to a mountain somewhere? Or the arctic? He nudged the powder, dry snow, light and lacking moisture, terrible for snowballs but great for sledding. “What happened?” The symbols that kinda made themselves visible as the dreamweaver helped Jack dust the flake ice off himself and stand were little more than frantic worried thoughts. Sandy was patting him down, practically frisking him, was he searching for injuries? Had Jack been injured?

He staggered, losing balance and almost falling back but the wind nudged sharply between them to cradle him through another skull throbbing wave. It took a moment, the pain stealing his focus, but as he shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face he realized how odd it was for the wind to shove between him and the Sandman. Sandy loved wind spirits, and they loved him. Being around Sandy had always made his own Wind settle into a placid shifting of air, but here it had physically knocked them apart.

For good reason.

Sandy was staring at his hand, at the spikes of ice that covered his hand, that grew out of his hand. Sandy traveled the sky through maritime air and countless weather formations, his sand was saturated in the moisture of the troposphere, and Jack had forced out and frozen that moisture into ice needles with just a touch.

“Sandy… I-” his groggy, choked voice jarred Sandy from studying the ice. With a crack of knuckles the frozen sand, fingers and all, broke and fell away in granulated lumps and spikes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening.” Jack backed away, staring in horror but Sandy tutted at him silently, waving his stump wrist like a wagging finger that split and grew into five new elongated tendrils which he wiggled impishly. Jack sagged against his staff in relief, leaning heavily against it like a crutch. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling the throb of his migraine.

They were getting worse. The headaches, the dizzy spells, the power fluctuations. He’d hurt Sandy, if it had been anyone else… he sat down sprawled legged in the snow and gripped at his hair. He’d not been this inept with his own powers since his first half century. He was losing control at a far more worrying degree. This wasn’t a power surge or a stray thought taking shape, this wasn’t his frost overtaking windows he was trying to see into or rooms he stood in going cold. This was dangerous. He could feel it, like trying to hold onto an undulating stream of water that ran through his body, building building building pressure until it burst.

All he could do was try to keep it back as long as he could, and get somewhere far away, somewhere safe, where he couldn’t hurt anyone.

“Did the wind call you?” If Sandy wasn’t the one who had sent him that dream, why was he here? How long had he been asleep? Had they been searching for him? It couldn’t have been too long if there was still dry snow drifts around, not this close to spring.

Sandy formed a cloud shape in his sand and pointed up at the sky, which was a shockingly clear blue for this time of year, not even a cirrus or distant haze to be seen. That couldn’t be right, Jack squinted at it, he was sure he’d been working on storms for Chuck, had he slept through the one he’d been building when…

He’d passed out.

The memory of it bloomed from the firework of pain in his head, illuminating the missing pieces like scattered confetti.

He had been adjusting the temperatures of the warm air the Wind had pushed up from ground, carefully seeding it with a moist maritime wind he’d cajoled from off the coast to follow them inland. His Wind never did need much instruction, it knew just what to do to form a perfect system, but the wild wind spirits were harder to keep on target. Cold winds were denser and liked to keep close to the ground while warm winds soared high and spread themselves far, maritime winds could be grumpy if they didn’t collect enough rainstorms and ended up drying out and continental winds disliked traveling too far from their territory. It made disrupting weather patterns delightfully easy but controlling them to get just the right effect was frustratingly complicated. Most weather manipulators just enslaved or killed off wind spirits to achieve their desired storms or only focused on the chaos of disrupting established systems.

Which pro~bably was why Jack was second only to Mother Nature in this field.

He’d planned on a nice big storm that he could loose on the New England states, seeded by the Maritime Wind and carried on it as it went back towards the Ocean.  It wouldn’t be a sticking snow, in some places it might be sleet or freezing rain, but it would mess with each and every promise of early thaw the local groundhogs had predicted and the following scattered storms would do interesting things in outer bands. Giving him plenty of time to fly off to North’s and bug him about the little power leaks he was struggling with.

The headache had been little more than a strain, just a tense twinge in his neck that no amount of stretching or shoulder rolling had eased, there’d been an echoing pain starting at the base of his skull and setting into his brow, maybe a sharp needling in his temple, but he’d just blamed it all on the stress and the work. Until the moment that building pressure burst, overwhelming him. It had felt like being struck by lightning, if he’d had the mind available he’d likely thought he’d been, or attacked. But there was no way to think through that kind of pain. Only instinct, and his instinct was to lash out.

He’d lost altitude, the maritime wind flinching back at the sudden shock of cold and letting him drop, he didn’t know how far he’d fallen before he was caught by his wind, didn’t know if he’d ever even been caught, he’d lost himself entirely to the pain while around him the clouds crystalized to diamond dust.

“Bunny is going to kill me.” He sighed. Sandy’s alarmed look had him shaking his head. He still didn’t know half of those symbols. “I was just going to make a small storm system, just for a few days. But this?” He held his hands out, indicating far and wide the huge snow drift and its refusal to melt. His internal thermometer said it was way below acceptable temperatures. This was freeze warning weather. “The ground isn’t thawed enough to warm the air and fix this, and the upper air is all frozen thanks to me.” If it stayed in this area it wouldn’t be so bad, but if it displaced the warm air around it then it could cause a huge cold front over a quarter of the continent. If the warm air rushed in to displace it and pushed it up it could disrupt the weather in the troposphere, not even mentioning what kind of storms would be forming along the belts.

If the clouds had survived his flash freeze and not been turned to the diamond dust that pooled around him they could probably have made some kind of barrier, if they didn’t turn into an outright blizzard.

He shouldn’t have brushed this off, shouldn’t have let it build and build and build until he couldn’t handle it anymore. Chuck was right, he should have gone to the Guardians first thing. He should have followed his advice as soon as he left, instead of putting it off to play in the snow. But how could he have known? They had been headaches, just headaches that sometimes made him a little too queasy, sometimes a little too sensitive to the way the snow reflected the sunlight or the sound as it crunched under someone’s feet.

But this!? The sudden blackout, the visions, and waking up under six feet dumped by the storm he had been playfully cultivating? He could only be thankful it had not been released, that he had kept the clouds close while he adjusted them, that the winds had not let them fly away as he fell from the sky. That they had become such a monstrous snow drift instead of the disastrous blizzard they could have been.

He hadn’t even considered that when it got bad, when it built up too much and he couldn’t hold it back anymore, he wouldn’t have the awareness to fight it. That it would sweep over everything, even him. Bowl him over and strike him down and fill his head with shapes and sounds and dreams so unbearably REAL they could almost be memories.

But they couldn’t be memories.

Because Jack knew what he was, knew who he was and how he lived and how he died, and the visions that came with the pain and the power surges were none of those things he knew.

“I need to talk to Tooth.” He jabbed his staff in the snow and used it to leverage himself up, ignoring Sandy’s concerned handwaving him back down. “Something is wrong.”

Any other day Sandy would reach out, he’d scoop Jack up in a dervish of sand that the Wind would join and the two would ascend together in a whirl of glittering delight. Sandy was fastest with Jack’s wind pushing him on and Jack found comfort in the safety of the sand cloud. They traveled well together, they meshed well. Sandy was the one person Jack had no qualms about spending time with, because he had something to offer too, something to help. He never felt like he was a bother with the Sandman.

It made the hesitancy, the aborted motion of Sandy reaching out a hand only to halt and stare at it, at Jack, at the dreamsand that neither of them could afford to have frozen right now, far more painful than the headaches.

Jack smiled, an age-old twist to his mouth that his lips knew well, “It’s okay Sandy.” The wind scooped him up, scattering the unseasonable powder snow as it lifted him. “It’s going to be fine.” His voice was firm, but they both knew he couldn’t promise that.

Sandy stared at him, golden eyes more serious than he’d ever seen, and nodded.

~*~

It was strangely pleasant, this habit Aster had formed with Cantabrica. They’d meet at the conference table, whoever had gotten there first would order the meal, and settle in to work side by side on their projects. After they would head to the exercise bay where they would work through the stiffness sitting so long hunched over tablets and consoles created. Cantabrica had never been through the Eumundi program, S. class juveniles were exempt from the mandatory military training so that they could focus on magical control, so Aster had taken to showing him the more rigorous routines that helped a warrior through long battles and longer guard watches. Then they would go their separate ways to their personal quarters for rest and grooming before meeting back at the conference table for another meal and more work.

They worked closely now, swapping the two opposing chairs for a long lounge that Cantabrica had produced from his room so they could watch each other’s progress instead of constantly demanding information. Aster had left off the majority of his fiddling with the other continents for the most part, a few underwater volcanoes would form some nice islands eventually and a landmass or two would be unusable until the ice sheets receded and Cantabrica had dismissed them with a, dare he say mischievous, glint in his eye and a promise of some ‘ideas’ for later.

It hadn’t taken long for the general outlines of city structures and waterways to be recreated either, Cantabrica knew how his buildings worked the way Aster knew his land and between them they had managed something close to a finished world. There were a few tweaks to do, the actual blueprints for the buildings and utilities and transportation systems, the population density projections and the agricultural areas that depended on how the planet handled the changes Aster made to it, but all these things could be attended once they were on site.

It was a beautiful planet; the best Aster had ever worked with and the most he’d ever enjoyed doing so; and if he spent the next few hundred revolutions raising a family there, he didn’t think it would be a bad note to end his career on. However, as it was Cantabrica could only do potential changes that got more and more detailed and artistic as his free time dragged on.

He quickly found that for every polished and practical design Cantabrica submitted there were half a dozen or more impossible and outlandish. Each and every one of these were breathtaking, if unconventional and at times a waste of resources, and they made Aster want to close the planet off from anyone else just to let Cantabrica do as he liked, preserve the artwork and refuse to let anyone close to use or damage it. Which was stupid, what was the point of a train if not to be used? Obviously making it look like a line of eggs all rolling one after the other was ridiculous and would never be approved by any sane planning commission but the two had spent three rotations designing it and had even managed a rough schematic and a small model. They had also made it capable of space travel, for no discernable reason excepting that they could. Aster would never have called the noises they made while they collaborated on it ‘giggling’ but it would not have been described as dignified by any outsider who may have heard them.

Aster’s pet project, the shaved off mountains that he was slowly turning into its own continent, had become the current focus of the two of them until they could reach the planet. He was designing it like it was his own personal warren, though outwardly he never said. It was just that if Cantabrica had an idea for this or that section Aster couldn’t help but look at it from his own tastes, not based on the flow of the stone or the consideration of the Pooka who would live there, but if he would like it for personal reasons. When the refugees came he would use this space for his clan.

He didn’t know if Cantabrica had figured that part out or not, but the Infrartem was a skilled enough artist to pick up on the design flow and recently his ideas were getting less and less rejection. Aster particularly liked the idea of using magic dye crystals beneath a large waterfall where the main river branched out to a small stream that wound through an open space he’d not planned anything for yet. The prospect of a free-flowing river of dye was both ludicrous and enchanting. On the one hand any Pooka who fell in would be completely painted, a scandal of the highest proportions in a world where clan colors and markings were the basis of identity. The only people who dyed their fur were outlaws and exiles.

On the other hand, dye crystals were difficult to come by and utilizing them in paint or textile based art was a pain. The Euastrids were a trade skill-based clan with no political or managerial members, Aster would have been the first if he had become a Bursmund, so a literal river of dye would put them head and shoulders above the rest. It would quickly make Aster’s warren one of the Core Astrid Tribe locations, a lofty title held only by the Superastrids and Ericales.  

“Where would we even get a crystal that big?” he questioned, head bent over the tablet as Cantabrica made some suggested changes to the blank area, adding boulders for pooka to sit as they washed and dyed their fabrics in containers of the river water. He was practically draped over the other buck, but that had become more or less normal for them. Cantabrica had once ended up near in his lap during their design of tiny egg-shaped robots to help them once they landed, insisting for some reason that the eggs needed tools for food prep. The S.Class adamantly refused to accept the Nutrition shakes as edible and the perishable food he’d brought wouldn’t last them much longer.

“I have one, it’s in with my supplies.” Cantabrica’s ear nudged his with an irritated twitch, Aster nudged it back; Aster’s were far larger and broader and he had military training, knew how to fly with them even, which had prompted an entirely different level of zanity from the younger buck and demands for a demonstration in the training room when he revealed it.

“Why would you have it?” That made no sense. Waste of storage space, which could have been used for more food if he was that opposed to “nutrition slop,” as he called it.

“Fur dye.”

“What?”

Cantabrica stilled, body suddenly tense, then very casually, deliberately, continued in a much more controlled way than the messy sketching he’d been doing, going back over the rough outlines and thickening edges.

“We’re going to be bringing in a lot of refugees,” he shrugged a shoulder, nudging Aster’s chest with the movement, “the council wanted something big enough to alter clan markings for the pooka who are migrating. Apparently this is going to be a ‘Big Deal’ planet.”

“Alright,” he settled back, watching the other pooka carefully. He was getting better, Aster was smugly pleased with the improvements since they had started training together, but Cantabrica still had several glaring tells in his body language. “How big of a deal are we expecting?”

“Hmm…” Cantabrica did something he’d never done before, he brought the stylus up to his mouth and actually, honest to Poppy, chewed on the end as he thought. “They, maybe, and I’m not saying it is anything more than conjecture at this point, but it may have been mentioned to me that they are moving the Artifacts of Papavera and the World tree to-” He flattened his ears as Aster lost his mind.

“Excuse me?!”

“Like I said,” the buck pulled the ear nearest to Aster’s assault down between his hands and casually groomed it, “it’s purely speculation.”

“The artifacts have not been world bound since Eudicot was lost.” Aster pointed out like it wasn’t a fact every Pooka of every class and clan knew. “That would mean they plan… sweet Poppy…” he scrubbed a paw over his face.

“Yes, they plan on establishing this planet as the new Pooka homeworld.” Cantabrica brushed his ears back and sat straighter on the lounge, though it fit the two of them comfortably with enough room for some attempt at personal space the two of them tended to drift into the middle these days. “The Pooka who migrate here en masse are going to be getting fresh markings, after I can use the crystal for wherever I want.” He pointed the stylus at the color river. “I think a big river of dye would make the whole clan marking issue much easier all around.”

“Hold on,” Aster had to struggle to even conceive of his world housing the ancient heirlooms of their long dead PLANET, but changes in clan marking, Homeworld, it all suggested something far beyond even his exemplary imagination. “What exactly would they be changing the markings to? -Don’t look at me like that you runt.” That was Cantabrica’s ‘you are so dense’ look. Aster had become familiar with it, had started to link it all the way back to when they had met. That was the same look he’d given him when he’d said Aster would be replaced, and when Aster had asked why he wasn’t in cryo, and not two rotations ago when he had asked Cantabrica why he spent 4 straight cycles in his room after their training instead of getting back to work.

Aster had said “grooming shouldn’t take THAT long with your short fur”.

It was a look that made Aster feel like he was missing something very obvious, and it was a look that pissed him off. He was not an idiot, the buck just never explained himself. He was only a mind reader with his fellow soldiers. They didn’t have that kind of bond yet.

“This is going to be the new Homeworld,” he pointed out, then added after a pause, “allegedly. The Pooka who are going to be born here will all be considered Worldbound.”

“They’ll be S.Class?” Aster hardly had the air to speak.

“Officially? No.” He tugged on a whisker, causing the whole left side of his face to twitch. “Look, the Class system is set up for the descendants of those who have the power of the World Tree inside them. The refugees would have to apply for status for any children with S.class genes they birth, but the restrictions on the reproduction between the classes will be removed.” He glanced back at Aster and away. “The most skilled and gifted Pooka will already be given priority status during the evacuation, even those among the E.Class, the Council plans to reinstate the original Tribe systems and their clan markings. A colony born Pooka with exemplary skills won’t be passed over in favor of an S.class with no experience. Any Pooka living on this planet will be the very best in their fields, gene restrictions won’t be necessary for them.”

“Huh.” Aster sagged, so his plans to bring his family there were more than a little farfetched then. If they were bringing back the original tribes, of the branch clans among the fractured Pentapetal tribe the Euasterids were the lowest, even the Eurosids had Burs level tradesmen. There was no one in his clan who had ever been above average in their trades, certainly not enough to compete against the Ericales and Cornales in who would join the S.Class Superasterids in the Asterid clan.

“Regardless,” Cantabrica broke into his thoughts with a long stretch that had him barely avoiding an elbow to the face, “nothing is going to happen until you finish terraforming. No point in trying to unravel their oh so lofty goals.”

Aster huffed a laugh. “Sure.” That was another interesting fact he’d discovered, Cantabrica had a rather severe lack of respect for the Pookan Council and the others in Upper Management. “Easy for you to say, you’re guaranteed a spot on the new homeworld.” He supposed it was easier for members of the Pollux to be insolent. Cantabrica’s place was assured, “Guess after this I’ll be shipped off to the next planet then? There’s two nearby that are in the same hospitable zone this one is.”

Cantabrica blinked at him, ears drooping a fraction before being forced back to rigid formation. “If that is your wish,” his voice was tense, and Aster’s whiskers twitched at the tone. That was his stilted formal speech. “I suppose I’ll put the idea before the council.” He stood and began to collect his tools. “I’m sure they will grant you permission on any world you wish after this.”

He reached out, taking Cantabrica’s hand as he began tapping on the console to close their work, a question on his tongue, but Cantabrica snatched his hand back so fast Aster’s claws scraped skin. “Don’t-!”

A loud blare drowned out his words as the lights above them flashed.

“What’s happening? Are we under attack?” The buck began frantically swiping through the screens on the console searching for the source.

“No, hey calm down.” He didn’t try to grab him again, figuring that was a good way to lose a hand, but he did pull up the correct notice on their holo screen. It had always been ticking away in the background, so neither of them had paid much attention to it, but Aster was well acquainted with that alarm. “Just the sleep cycle.”

“Sleep cycle?” Cantabrica looked comically confused. Near scandalized.

“Well I’m not sure what the basis is in your trade, but in the Mundi you’re trained to sleep ten cycles every 100 rotations.”

“100!” Near scandalized shot to very obviously scandalized, he’d forgotten or just didn’t bother concealing his expressions, from his bulging eyes to his bristling fur to the struggling words trying to battle their way out of his mouth as it opened and closed repeatedly. “You mean to tell me you only sleep one Rotation out of a whole Revolution?!”

Well, put in Planetary Time Zones it sounded dramatic, “It’s regulation. A Pooka only needs ten cycles to survive.”

“Yes, to SURVIVE, not to operate with any quality of life.”

“It’s regulation.” Aster repeated, defensive. “Which you would know if you had attended Eumundi training like the E.Class pooka.”

“Of course.” Cantabrica threw his hands up, his voice shrill and bitter, “how better to keep them controlled.”

“Controlled?” but Cantabrica had moved off with a severe look to his face.

“In case you’re superior intellect has failed you, Bunnymund,” he emphasized the Mund in a way that Aster was certain was no compliment, “you are not in the Mundi forces and are in fact on a mission to terraform the most important planet in this or any universe since Eudicot.” He set his electronics down on the console and turned back to jab a claw into Aster’s chest ruff. “And for that you need to be in TOP form, not barely meeting the limits to NOT DIE form. So no more nutrition shakes,” he poked Aster again “No more going from work to training to work with minimal rest, and NO MORE SLEEP DEPRIVATION.”

“You seem to be under the delusion you’re in charge here.” While Cantabrica was definitely the one responsible for the ruling of the planet, in this ship Aster’s job was getting them there safely, ad that afforded him certain… leeway.

“You think I can’t make you?”

What a hilarious question. The clear difference in size aside, Aster had seen the other Pooka in the training room, they now had daily sparring matches, so no he didn’t think Cantabrica could physically make him. He could,however, make the rest of their time in this very small ship an unpleasant experience and honestly that was far more terrifying than muscling him into the cryo capsules.

“Fine.” He rolled his shoulders and turn towards the storage.

“Where are you going now?”

“The Cryo room?” Aster raised his brows incredulously. “Or do you want to lecture me some more?”

“Are you serious?” Cantabrica matched him eyebrow for eyebrow before throwing up his hands, again. “Of course, why am I surprised. Come here.” In clear violation of his own recently reestablished boundaries he grabbed Aster’s forearm and pulled him in the opposite direction, back towards his own quarters muttering darkly. “First you want to jump right into a new planet after we’re done now you want to sleep in a glass tube, there is a limit to how much self-sacrifice I can tolerate.”

“Where are we going?”

“My room, where there is an actual bed.”

“A bed?” The door slid open and Aster was drug into an unusually bare room.

It was smaller than his, which he didn’t expect, with overflowing shelving units above a work station and a smaller holo screen that had their planet rotating with the last saved changes displayed. It was the only real furniture in the little space, a wall on one end had been covered in reflective material to serve as a floor to ceiling mirror and a spartan case of grooming supplies was open on the floor beside it. He supposed the lounge had been against the opposite wall, but that still would have brought the total amount of items in the room to three. In comparison Aster’s chaotic assortment of items he kept in his room because he knew if they were in the cargo he’d just have to dig through there when he needed it made him look like a hoarder.

“Through here,” Cantabrica tugged him past the mirror towards what Aster had assumed was the closet but was in fact an entrance to another room. The lights didn’t automatically turn on like they usually did when one entered a room on the ship.

“Did you knock down a wall?” He demanded.

“No, I moved one.” The flippant response was just like an S. class. “I didn’t need the extra storage in the cargo.” He let go of Aster and switched on the lights, which apparently involved actually touching some kind of mechanism.

The light was only a dim golden glow but a Pooka’s eyes were powerful even in gloom.

“You have… unique tastes.”

Cantabrica gave him an unimpressed look from the corner of his eye and moved to dig through a wardrobe. “Do you have any sleeping clothes?” he asked, but then immediately talked over any reply with a “Who am I kidding, of course you don’t, probably just use a microclimate wrap in the cryo. I have a set that might fit you.”

“I highly doubt anything you own would fit me.” Aster raised his hand to about shoulder level, which was as far as Cantabrica’s head went, and took a bundle of cloth to the face for his trouble. “I could have dodged that, so you know.” He grinned as he pulled it off.

“And yet…” Cantabrica sighed, unimpressed.

“You look like you need to work through some things.” He tilted his head to study the room, more to size of his own cluttered quarters, though the entryway/workspace outside was an unfair luxury. Here there was no work, no drones or tablets or programs running simulations in the background. There was only the wardrobe with privacy screen, a set of chests Aster assumed were full of personal items, and against the far wall a raised padded platform with cushions and unraveled bolts of cloth. “What’s this?” he plucked at the fabric curiously.

“Uh, a blanket?” Cantabrica made a victorious sound in his throat and tugged something long and plush from the depths of the wardrobe. “This was Alpina’s,” he said and he shook it out revealing a robe of some sort.

“Why do you have it then?”

“I like to sleep in it,” He rolled it over his arm and chucked it at him, though this time Aster did catch it. “She’s around the same length as you in the middle, though you at least have sane leg size, those sleep pants should only be a little short on you.”

“I hate to be the one to ruin your high-class delusions, but have you considered that you’re just short?”

“Absolutely not, blasphemer, now go get changed.” He shoved Aster hard between his shoulder blades, which inspired Aster to dig his heels in a little and make the little buck put some effort into it.

“Why do you sleep in your cousin’s robe?” Aster asked again, slipping behind a screen to remove his outer robe and waspie, sliding the long sleep robe over his head. It was a luxurious material, velvet soft like the petals of a flower but light weight and comfortable against the grain of his fur.

“I used to crawl in to sleep with her when I was little,” the sounds of movement, shift of cloth,told Aster that the other buck was changing as well, “when she wasn’t away on missions. I sleep more than she does, more than most Pooka do. About 2 cycles per Rotation.”

“Two?!” Aster smacked his elbow against the screen as he lost his balance putting on the trousers. Cantabrica was right, they were too short. Reaching midway past his knee to his ankle.

“What did you think I was doing every time I went to my room?” the laughter was soft and deeply amused. “I’m decent if you are.”

“How do you manage 2 whole cycles?” Aster came around to find Cantabrica sitting on the cushioned platform opening one of the smaller chests.

“Years of practice. I used to nap when I was bored. And I have this,” he pulled out a draw string pouch with a distinct golden stitching.

“Dreamsand?” Aster approached, awed, as the other buck held it out to him like it wasn’t worth the entirety of their ship. “How did you get this?” Dreamsand wasn’t a thing that could be harvested, it was a gift, sent by passing star pilots to those whose deepest wishes were deemed worthy of a dream, an idea their mind could bend and work and build upon to make those wishes into reality. The only ones who could collect this much of it were the very important members of the Constellan Houses who could speak to shooting Star Pilots in person, and dream pirates who stole them.

“My Mother, when I left I was given two gifts by my parents and one of them was this, so I could see the world we were going to build. She told me that even if the war made everything in the universe seem hopeless and impossible, that our planet would shine like the first light itself. And to see them as ell,” his smile was dimmed, so very sad, and his hand was reverent as he pulled open the top to reveal the glittering gold inside, “to see them in the Dreaming.”

“They must love you very much.”

“More than anything.”

Aster couldn’t imagine, he was one of a dozen Pooka granted to his mother, each raised by the clan as she traveled from task to task creating medicinal farms.  He knew he had her coloring, her long double maned fur and silver undercoat, but he had never actually met her. She had been deemed valuable genetically, but family ties were based on the clan as a whole, not immediate relations.

“I thought it was weird, how close you and Alpina were,” Cantabrica went rigid, “I could tell you were related, you have the same rare eyes, but you’re obviously precious to each other.”

“Oh, our eyes aren’t that rare,” Cantabrica tried to laugh, but it was obviously strained.

“I’d never seen them before I met her,” Aster pointed out, and Cantabrica looked even more irritated at that.

“Oh, there’s a few of us, in the Pollux at least. Genetic anomaly and all.”

“Didn’t think they had those anymore, anomalies.” He smiled, and Cantabrica tried to smile back but it looked like a grimace. “How many? Is it strong then? I can imagine it being highly favored in the fertility requests.

“Not very,” He stood and crossed back to the wardrobe, tugging another long plush bolt of cloth and shaking it out, “only one other has it. Anyway, here’s a second blanket, since there’s no way your ridiculously long body is fitting under that one and not stealing half the covers.”

“Not so common then,” huh, that was definity a pissed off look, but he wasn’t going to let the subject drop just yet. He’d been wondering about Cantabrica’s family ties since they started this journey. “Not popular, this other pooka?”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” The buck finally snapped.

“So not liked personally.”

“I’m not discussing my brother with you.” Cantabrica hurled the blanket at him, which would have been fine considering he’d done the same thing for every other article of clothing he’d given him, but Aster still had the open bag of dreamsand in his hands and there was no way he’d let go of it to spill everywhere, so he had no choice but to take the hit.

Which happened to disturb just enough dream sand, which was startlingly light weight and finely grained he absolutely MUST study it at some point, to puff up into the air like a cloud of dust. Dream dust. It smelled like grass, like long hot grass that was baking in a strong sun, strange that a thing that came from something hurtling through space smelled like his favorite field to run in as a child.

“Poppy preserve me.” Cantabrica muttered and Aster felt a bit of vertigo, then pressure on his shoulders, “Here, just lie down.” His vision cleared ad he blinked up at the other buck, who had pulled the blanket that was covering his face away to drape it over his... was he laid out on the cushioned platform?

“What is happening?” He asked, blinking golden spots from his vision.

“Dreamsand, just sleep, no use talking now.” He really had no choice to follow that order, it seemed, but the muttered “Idiot” really made him want to fight it.

But there was a wide field of sun-warmed grass and the promising sound of cold river water if he made it to the other side, and it was so long since he’d run in the clan warren. Questions could wait couldn’t they?

Though what he wanted to ask, and who, was already only a vague feeling in his sleeping mind.

~*~

“It doesn’t seem to be a problem with your Teeth.” Tooth told him, investigating the toothbox much as North often tinkered with some invention. Though what she could see in a cushioned box lined with teeth he guessed only she would know. “To be honest I don’t exactly ‘see’ the memories unless I’m actually prying, I have been told its ‘unethical’.”

“You were told right.”

“See,” She handed the teeth back to Jack, “I knew you’d say that.”

“Well, it does register on the creep meter a bit,” He hopped up on his staff to be on her level, “and you already have the whole breaking and entering and stealing body parts thing.”

To Tooth’s credit she only laughed, Tooth was never offended at his digs. “I pay for them at least.”

“You do, you do.” His smile faltered, “but if its not my memories, then what is it?”

“I’m not sure,” she was quiet, eyeing the tooth box again. “The teeth, they don’t hold all your memories, even with magic there’s only so much space the human mind can fit inside. Its more cellular memories, like the bits that are stored in the rest of your body. When you get them back, it stimulates your mind. Your childhood memories, the very early ones, are almost never stored by your brain; at most you’ll have a knowledge of a memory instead of the actual memory. Tooth memories are… different. Using magic I can help you find the strongest memories, the most important ones, the ones that really helped shape who you were as a child, but the rest? That’s all you.” She touched his shoulder, “You remembered saving your sister because your teeth stimulated your mind enough to find its own way back, to heal a part of you that was damaged when you drowned. Maybe now its healing another part you didn’t know you were missing.”

“But they aren’t MY memories, Tooth.” Jack pressed, and he wished he could explain it. Explain how everything he remembered during these blackouts was different to what he remembered from his toothbox, though the shapes and voices and even what they did or said was more and more unclear the longer he tried to think of it, like trying to make out shapes under cloudy ice. He knew what it looked like, but his brain just couldn’t see it even as it recognized it as something familiar and known. “I wish I could tell you what they are, but I can’t remember them to explain it.”

“Its fine Jack and…” she chewed on her lip, “have you considered that it might be because you’re a Guardian?”

“What? No, why would it..?”

“Here, Jack come here,” Tooth too his hand and he let her pull him off his staff. It wasn’t an easy show of trust, leaving it standing there, unmoved, as she guided him over to the edge of the balcony to sit. “I know there’s a lot about belief and Guardianship we’ve not been able to teach you.”

“Mostly because I can’t sit still.” He tried to joke. Jack’s attention span and easily distracted personality made for a poor student, and it usually only took an hour before the others were desperate to get him to stay focused. It had been unanimously decided that Jack would learn on a case by case basis. If it came up and was relevant to what they were doing Jack took to it with a single-minded focus, otherwise there were a billion more interesting things he wanted to do.

She smoothed out the feather crest atop her head, “yes, well part of belief, particularly global belief, is that different people and cultures are going to see you differently. Sometimes it changes you,” her wings twitched, just a flutter, but her hand went to her own shoulder to touch the very tips of where they connected. “Sometimes the magic alters you to fit pieces of the lore, makes you look more like what people believe you look like, so that you can be recognized. It’s a self defense part of the magic.”

“Like you?” He asked and she nodded.

“Bunny too, to a degree, though it was only there at the end. When people stopped believing in him he just became another rabbit, though he’d never been one himself. Without a belief in the “Easter Bunny” there was little left for him but the momentary love of children who received pet rabbits for Easter. It rarely lasts though; rabbits are a lot more work than people think they are.”

“So.. exactly like our Bunny.”

She laughed, “Yes! He is rather high maintenance, isn’t he?”

“So you think I’m changing?” He moved the topic back, something that others usually had to do for him and his endless segue. It was all the proof Tooth needed to treat this as serious as she could, Jack only showed such determination when it was important.

“No Jack, there’s another facet to this magic, a part that happens when the lore stretches too thin or too far, or the changes are too much for any singular being can accommodate. You remember the mice, right?” She gestured downwards off the balcony, the bangles around her wrist tinkling. Below them the tooth palace was a hive of activity equal to any large metropolitan area, with clear lines of incoming and outgoing fairies following invisible flight patterns to avoid holding up the traffic, and further still there scurried the furred bodies and red hats of the mice. “They showed up one day, mice from my forest that had always been with me since I was a girl, but they had taken a new role. Somewhere out in the world the ‘toothfairy’ had become a mouse, and the magic couldn’t change me, so it changed them. I feel them, the same as my fairies, and they answer to me as well. One day another shift will happen, maybe I’ll change, maybe one of my girls will, or maybe some other animal from my forest. Maybe one day I’ll find myself fighting off Tooth Trolls because some Finish children’s book became too popular.”

Jack’s face did a twisted twitching shift into pure glee, his eyes bright and shining and his teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep the largest grin. “Tooth Trolls?” He managed in a squeaky eager voice?

“Oh its an old-“

“No, nope, wait, hold up,” he waived his hands at her and then physically slapped at his own cheeks. “We will come back to that absolutely fantastic revelation at a later date. For now we focus.”

“Right, focus, that is absolutely something the two of us can do together,” she paused and glanced back to her tower, where Sandy was doing an… interesting job of assisting Babytooth with covering for her absence. “We are masters of the moment.”

“Absolutely, yes, we are masters.” Jack cackled, “So you were saying?”

“What was I saying again?” Tooth blinked and turned back to him.

“Tooth!” He kicked her off the balcony, sending her tumbling a good two meters head over foot before she caught air and flew back to smack at him with jangly jewelry covered hands.

“Don’t. Do. That!” She swatted at him like she didn’t make it a habit to knock him off his balancing acts every chance she got and he laughed, raising his arms in defense.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry, uncle! Unc-!!” He doubled over, the sharp tingling jolt of pain stealing his breath.

“Jack?!” The wind was a shrieking current that knocked Tooth violently away as his power surged out in a cackle of blue light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day Jack will get a full explanation of the magic he's involved in, but it is not this day.
> 
> could you tell from the sudden rushed quality that I had absolutely no idea how to get Aster and Cantabrica to talk about their stupid eyes? I always intended his brother to be the hint dropped for the actual conversation I planned, but no way to get there. 
> 
> Bless dreamsand for propping up my shitty scene transisions.


End file.
